


Quills and Ravens

by Camelittle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awesome Gwen (Merlin), Awesome Morgana (Merlin), Epistolary, F/F, Forced Marriage, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed, Ravens, Secret Messages, Women Being Awesome, awesome hunith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:02:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28452084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle
Summary: When Uther finds Morgana kissing a servant girl, he has the girl imprisoned and forces Morgana into marrying Cenred, to cement the alliance between Camelot and Essetir. Filled with sorrow and guilt at not supporting her more, Merlin acts to help Morgana to protect herself from having to consummate the marriage. At the same time, he vows to free Gwen and reunite the lovers. When a letter arrives from Morgana, seemingly extolling her husband’s virtues and the joys of a happy marriage, it is so out of character that he knows for sure that it must contain a secret message. Can he decipher it and uncover the plot it reveals before it is too late?
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74
Collections: Hurt/Comfort Bingo - Round 11





	Quills and Ravens

**Author's Note:**

> Some battles are won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens ~ Tywin Lannister. _A Storm of Swords_ , George R R Martin.  
> Fills the "Forced Marriage" square on my 2020 hurt/comfort bingo card  
> With heartfelt thanks to Wasp for the beta and kind words. Any remaining mistakes, grammatical errors, or logical inconsistencies are mine, all mine.  
> Morgana and Gwen love exchanging secret messages. See if you can find the hidden messages in the notes they send one another.  
> Oh, and ravens are very good mimics - I did enjoy watching videos of Fable the Raven who has lots of great conversation e.g. https://youtu.be/Rk0jyySGMck
> 
>  **TW for:** attempted rape

*******

“Whatever is the matter with you?” Exasperated, Arthur thrust the scrunched-up letter back at his still-pouting manservant. He did not have time for this. He had to be out on the training grounds before the rest of his knights, or his father would accuse him of slacking. “Morgana is absolutely fine. Now hurry up and finish getting my other vambrace on.” 

Letter delivered back into Merlin’s waiting fist, he held out his arm, giving his fingers an impatient waggle. 

“Are you mad? Does this look like something Morgana would write?” retorted Merlin, cheeks pink and indignant, ignoring the vambrace to deposit the letter back in Arthur’s outstretched hand. “There’s a secret message hidden in here somewhere, I swear!”

“The vambrace, Merlin!” roared Arthur, properly annoyed now as he shoved the letter back at Merlin’s chest.

Paying no attention to Arthur’s explicit command, Merlin grabbed the parchment instead, shaking it out. Reading from it out loud, he punctuated each phrase by looking up to glare at Arthur with eyes narrowed to shrewd, accusing gimlets and poking the parchment with an indignant forefinger. 

“ _Every bird, every leaf fills me with joy._ Joy, Arthur! Since when has Morgana been expressing joy over _leaves?_ Hmm? _Love for the goddess and for my husband sustain me._ Seriously, Arthur?” 

“I’ll grant you that does sound curiously demure for her. But we have important—”

 _“Cenred cares for me daily with his kindness.”_ Merlin quoted. With a glare, he carried on. “ _Every one of his citizens adores him. No gift is too small, and no ribbon or jewel too expensive._ Does that sound like Cenred? To you? Because I can remember dealing with him, and if anyone ever asked to describe him in one word—”

“No-one ever would,” muttered Arthur. With a sigh, he took the letter back out of Merlin’s outstretched hand and scanned it again. 

***

[LETTER READS: 

> _Dear Arthur_
> 
> _So, where shall I start? Every day I think of Camelot and my beloved family but really, I have to start by saying that I am deeply content. No husband could be more attentive than Cenred! Daily, I start by thanking the goddess for her blessings._
> 
> _Her blessings are abundant! Every bird, every leaf fills me with joy. Love for the goddess and for my husband sustain me. Please do not worry about me._
> 
> _Cenred cares for me daily with his kindness. Every one of his citizens adores him. No gift is too small, and no ribbon or jewel too expensive. Ribbons and jewels decorate my person and my clothes. Each of Cenred's knights is sworn to protect me. Do not fret, for I am very comfortable here._
> 
> _Words cannot express my deep joy at this marriage. I am sleeping so much better than before. Let me know if you hear news of Gwen. Like a fool, I thought my love for her was more than my love for my husband._
> 
> _Know now that I have started to change. I no longer pine for what I cannot have. Love from a man has taught me what I truly needed. Love that has no limits._
> 
> _My husband cherishes and comforts me. Every hour of every day._
> 
> _As for rumours of Cenred's army, they are just that: rumours. No army is being amassed, as far as I can see. Do not worry, for you have been misled, and evil people are slandering my beloved husband._
> 
> _In truth, my feelings are starting to grow. No poet ever felt what I feel! Verses fail to capture the depth of my emotions. A pale imitation! Dearest Cenred is quite overwhelmed by my feelings sometimes. Every so often, he says he has to pinch himself._
> 
> _Camelot will always be my home, but I am starting to be happy here in Essetir as well. A fine kingdom, full of fine people. My heart is complete. Essetir abounds with magic, but I have become accustomed to it. Likely, you would if you started to free magic in Camelot. Otherwise, things are much the same as they are anywhere. Try to start to examine my words, dear brother, for they show how deeply I remain sincerely yours,_
> 
> _Morgana_
> 
> _xx_

LETTER ENDS]

  
***

It was oddly phrased, Merlin was right about that. But he did not have time to work out exactly why. Dropping the letter on his desk, Arthur grabbed his vambrace and waggled it. 

“ _If_ someone were to ask me—” Merlin said, ignoring the hint as usual.

“…they’d get a lot more than one word in answer—” muttered Arthur. 

“ _If,”_ said Merlin more loudly, talking over Arthur, “if someone… who wasn’t a self absorbed, interrupting clotople… were to ask me my educated opinion, I would _not_ say that generosity was the first word that springs to mind.” 

Arthur sighed. “I concede that this does seem oddly generous for Cenred, but marriage changes people, I have heard it said. It’s all that wedded bliss. Does weird things to the brain.” Putting his hand to his head, he made a circling motion with his finger to illustrate his point. 

“You’re deluded if you think that marriage can cause a complete character change.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “Plus, Morgana loves Gwen, not Cenred! All this… this… lovey dovey stuff about him. It’s just lies and fluff!”

“Well, maybe she has come to realise that… that much though… though… many of us may… ahem.” With a harrumph, Arthur swallowed down his own discomfort. “Many of us may wish it, a member of the royal household cannot marry a mere servant. Nobles and knights don’t get to choose who they marry. I have known that since I was a child, and so has Morgana.”

“I know that.” Merlin’s blush spread like a bruise across the line of his cheekbones, making Arthur’s fingers twitch with the desire to trace its path. 

“Then let it lie.” 

Merlin looked down for a moment before replying, looking up at Arthur through a fan of sooty lashes. “So you do admit she loves Gwen.” 

“Loved,” corrected Arthur. “No doubt Morgana has stemmed the tide of her feelings, as we were taught to do as children.”

With sorrowing eyes, Merlin studied him, his mouth turned down, fingers fiddling at the corner of the letter where it lay on Arthur’s desk. “Oh, Arthur,” he said at last. “You can’t just turn off feelings. It’s like damming a stream, eventually they pour out… or burst out…” Merlin swallowed, his throat working, and stared out of the window for a second. 

How did Merlin know so much about suppressing feelings? Frowning, Arthur bit his lip as sudden discomfort surged through his belly. 

“And this… it’s… this bit about Gwen here,” Merlin carried on after a moment, poking at the letter with one finger. “ _Like a fool, I thought my love for her was more than my love for my husband…_ She just wouldn’t say that. And look here, at the end where she says _Try to start to examine my words, dear brother, for they show how deeply I remain sincerely yours._ She's trying to tell you something. There's a hidden message in here and there’s something wrong. I’m sure of it.” 

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it?” said Arthur. “I can’t exactly ride up to Cenred’s castle and demand to see her, can I? That would be an act of war, and you know it.” 

Merlin didn’t reply. Instead his face darkened and he glared at Arthur, mouth set into a mutinous line. 

“Now. Vambrace.”

“But—”

“Now, Merlin.” 

But from the way that Merlin compressed his lips as he bent to the task, Arthur would be hearing more about this damned letter later. 

***

Later that evening, duties fulfilled, Merlin sat at the desk in Gaius’s workshop with one candle burning. He straightened out the parchment and squinted at it, willing it to yield its secrets. There had to be a secret message inside it. 

Perhaps she enchanted it? 

Without his precious magic book, and how he rued its loss, he could not begin to decipher any magical hidden text. But what else could he have done? Morgana needed the book more than him. If only he had been brave enough to help her with her magic before. Not for the first time, guilt passed over him in painful waves. 

But it was no use sitting there brooding over his regrets. That would not help Morgana at all. No, he needed to do something concrete, to focus on the things he could control, rather than waste time on useless hand-wringing. There had to be some way to bring Morgana’s message out of the words on the paper. There just had to be!

“ _Betǣċaþ_ ,” he muttered, waving a hand over the page. His magic pulled at something deep in his gut and the candle guttered, but no secret writing emerged. 

Sighing, he closed his eyes, trying to remember some of the other showing spells. 

“ _Gerihtrecaþ_!”

His eyes warmed, making him blink, but the page remained stubbornly blank. 

“ _Ætíe mé_!”

This time, the ink on the paper glowed and the candle flared. Letting out a small, excited sound, he peered at the parchment closely, heart speeding. But still there was no further clue to Morgana’s intended meaning. 

“ _Scinsire_ ,” he said finally. But all that happened was that the chamber filled with light, making Gaius turn over in his sleep. 

He would bet his mother’s life on the fact that Morgana was trying to send them a secret message. But no matter how long he stared at the page by the flickering candlelight until the letters danced before his eyes and no matter what spell he tried, he could not work out the real meaning of her words. 

***

Arthur paused on the threshold of his father’s private chamber, hand raised, and rapped twice on the hard wooden door. 

“Enter!” came Uther’s familiar voice from inside.

The guards parted their pikes and the door opened from within. Arthur strode through. 

“Arthur.” Sitting up straighter in his chair, Uther dismissed his guards and servants with a wave of his hand. “You’re back sooner than I expected.”

“Sire.” Bowing, Arthur blinked back fatigue. “I rode as fast as I could.” After riding for two solid days, with precious little rest, his muscles ached and he wanted nothing so much as to sink into a bath, with Merlin’s clever fingers kneading away the tension and knots in his shoulders muscles but after what he had heard, it was his duty to report to the king first. “I bring urgent news, and a request.” 

“Sit. You must be tired. Have you eaten?” 

“No.” Arthur sank gratefully into a chair at his father’s table. “I came straight here.” 

“Fetch food for the prince. And wine,” said Uther to a waiting servant, motioning with one hand.

“Wait.” Before the servant could leave, Arthur lifted a hand, adding. “And let my manservant know that I have returned and I require a bath to be prepared in my chambers.” 

“Sire!” The servant bowed then took off at a run. 

“Now, Arthur. What news from Brechfa?” Uther leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. “Was there any sign of the magical creature?”

“No, sire.” Biting back his retort, Arthur clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword and drew in two long breaths, to prevent himself from saying anything rash. 

For, the so-called magical creature, as Uther was well aware, did not exist. No, as both men knew but would never say out loud, the creature was a ruse, fabricated to ensure that Arthur had no time or inclination to release Gwen from the dungeons. But despite his initial resentment at being sent away without even his manservant for company to pursue this fictional beast, Arthur felt grateful, for he had unearthed something far more worrying in his travels. 

“Then why the hurry?” Uther lowered his lashes in a slow blink and leaned back in his seat, a relaxed-looking gesture that Arthur knew well and mistrusted accordingly. 

“Although there was no magical creature, Sire. I found disturbing evidence for other problems,” said Arthur, choosing his words carefully.

“Oh?” Uther frowned. 

“Yes. Close to Brechfa, I found several villages in distress,” Arthur began, warming to his topic as he spoke. “They were reporting incursions and kidnappings. Children had been carried off in the night. Brutally torn from their mothers’ sides by armed men.” 

The horrific sight of a mother keening for not one but two lost children was not one that he would forget in a hurry. 

“Regrettable, I know, but there is very little that we can do to rectify matters.” Uther shrugged. “They live close to the border. Such things happen, Arthur. We cannot send out a party without antagonising our new allies in Essetir.” 

Horrified, Arthur stared. “But, they are under Camelot’s protection! I rode for two days straight to inform you so that we could fulfil our duty. And what of the implications for our treaty with Cenred?” 

“With Cenred? What does he have to do with this?” 

“The soldiers involved wore no regalia, but one of the villagers we interviewed swore that he recognised them talking in the tongue of Essetir.”

“Nonsense,” said King Uther genially. He took a sip from a goblet. “Cenred is our ally, now. No, these must have been brigands.”

Anticipating this reaction, Arthur had his arguments lined up already. 

“Cenred has shown in the past that he has few scruples when it comes to meeting the obligations imposed by a treaty,” he began. “I don’t trust him…”

But he was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door.

“Ah, your food is here,” said Uther. “Enter!”

Two serving maids came in, eyes demurely lowered, depositing two heavily laden platters before the two men, before bowing and standing with heads bowed to await further command. 

“Leave us,” Uther added. 

Soon, they were alone. Finding himself suddenly famished, Arthur tackled the meal with more gusto than finesse. 

“I fear that Cenred may be up to something,” Arthur said between mouthfuls. He mopped at his lips with a napkin before taking a swig of Uther’s best wine – expensive, and delicately spiced. “I would ask leave to investigate further. I wish to send a scouting party to the border with Essetir.”

“Absolutely not.” Uther put a grape into his mouth and started to chew, adding between mouthfuls, “it would be a flagrant act of aggression.” 

“But—” 

But Arthur did not have a chance to finish his sentence, because at that moment the alarm bell rang out. He closed his eyes, but put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Weary already, the last thing he wanted was another battle.

“Sire!” a panting Sir Leon appeared at the door, ushered through by the guards. 

“What is it?” Uther was already on his feet, strapping his sword to his side. 

“The prisoner. The servant, Guinevere. She has escaped, my Lord.” 

Good, thought Arthur’s treacherous heart, although he dared not speak his thoughts out loud. 

“What?” Glowering, Uther placed both hands on his hips. “I gave specific orders that she should be watched, night and day! Did the guards take leave of their senses? Over-sentimental, perhaps? I will have them flogged!” 

“It seems that a sorcerer entered the citadel, my lord,” said Leon, bowing deeply. “A trouble-maker with white hair and a beard. The sorcerer duped the guards with magic, and he and the serving girl vanished.” 

“Then find her and recapture her. She cannot be allowed to reach Morgana!” said Uther, voice rising. 

“At once, My Lord.” 

With a final bow, Leon reversed out of the room. Arthur went to follow him, but the king grabbed his arm. 

“You will stay here,” he hissed. “As you well know, the girl was found kissing a member of the nobility – my own ward, no less! – and had to be punished. And although Morgana is now safe from her wiles, thanks to Cenred's timely intervention in marrying her, the maid has been seen consorting with a known sorcerer. No doubt she placed Morgana under an enchantment. You know the penalty.”

Arthur gaped at him in shock. “But, father! Gwen would never… she is loyal to—” 

“The maid is a traitor and will be punished, as soon as she is found. And anyone who helped her will be punished also.” 

As he spoke, Uther observed Arthur through narrowed eyes as if he had something to do with Gwen’s escape – which was impossible. Much though he had wanted to spring Gwen from the dungeons, Uther’s urgent patrol to Brechfa had prevented him from making any plans. As it was, given the timing of his return, Arthur had the perfect alibi. Almost as if someone had planned it that way. 

But how could the sorcerer have known that Arthur would fall under suspicion? Unless… 

“Can you think of anyone in Camelot who might have consorted with sorcerers to have her rescued?” Uther’s eyes bored into his. “Think carefully.”

Arthur swallowed and shook his head, unable to bring himself to lie, but not wanting to damn Merlin with his words either. 

“Very well. She will be executed when she is found. Now, sit and finish your meal.” 

“But, Father—”

“I commanded you to sit!” roared the king.

Jaw tensing, Arthur sat down and picked listlessly at his food as his father listed all the reasons why he could not investigate the rumours about Cenred’s men. He only listened with half an ear, his mind busy fretting over Merlin’s idiocy. Did the self-sacrificing idiot have no sense at all? Of course suspicion would fall on him! After all, if Arthur could put two and two together and deduce who must have arranged Gwen’s escape, it would not be long before the king did the same. 

***

King Cenred of Essetir settled back upon his throne, signalling to his bride to sit at his feet. Lady Morgana stumbled as she knelt upon the bare flags. Cenred tutted. Clicking his fingers, he signed for a lackey to step forward.

“My bride will not sit on stone, cretin!” he roared. “Bring furs at once. And wine. I want wine.” 

“Sire.” The oaf shuffled backwards, scrambling just out of reach of his fist. 

“I was inspired, suggesting this marriage.” Captivated by her beauty, he ran his finger along the delicate curve of Morgana’s perfect jaw, heart singing in triumph. Not only would this alliance provide him with a legitimate claim on Camelot’s throne, but until such times as he bored of her, he would have this rare beauty in his bed. “Uther could hardly disagree without offending me mightily. But little did I know what an exquisite jewel he was keeping hidden.”

She blinked silently at him, with barely a hint of a flinch. Good. She had learned well, during their journey. The evidence for her rapid education bloomed blue and black on her cheek. 

“You may speak,” he granted with great magnanimity.

“My Lord’s great wisdom is an example to us all,” Morgana whispered, lowering demure lashes and blinking up at him. 

“Smile, my dear,” he said. “You have such a beautiful smile.” 

And smile, she did, compressing the delicate bow of her lips into watery lines.

His pulse quickened. How beautifully she shook for him. Later, he would test how darkly the milk-pale trembling flesh of her bosoms and long limbs would mark beneath his possessive fingers and fists. The pride of Camelot, submitting to Essetir as she should. Would she cry out? He would muffle her cries with his hands, cast her face down upon his bed and drive into her to cement his claim on her body and her soul. A sudden surge of lust thrilled through him and he found himself impatient to take her. 

“I am tired,” he decided. “It was a long journey from Camelot.” 

She blinked demurely up at him, her eyes huge and without artifice. Her hair, raven-dark and shining, cascaded smoothly towards the gentle swell of her breast. 

It was a great shame that he would have to kill her to fulfil his ambitions. But he would enjoy breaking her along the way. He had started doing so, along their journey, although he was unable to consummate their marriage yet. An ague had inexplicably wracked him each time he touched her. The journey must have made him soft. 

Well, now he was in Essetir, on home turf, and could put that memory behind him. He would not let that odd weakness prevent him from touching her any more. 

“The king and his bride shall retire to the royal bedchamber,” he pronounced, even as he swallowed a gulp of wine from the goblet his lackey proffered. 

Only a slight tremor betrayed Morgana’s disquiet. He would soon beat that out of her. 

He dismissed the court with a click of his fingers. They shuffled out, with backwards glances, some murmuring in appreciation of her beauty. Triumphant, he dragged her to her feet by her wrist, ignoring her yelp of surprise, not bothering to conceal his heavy-lidded desire. All present would envy him his prize. He would be the most powerful man in the five kingdoms, with Albion’s finest beauty by his side. 

Upon reaching his destination, he threw her face down upon his bed as he had planned and went to grab her skirts. But a sudden stab of crippling pain caused him to double over, clutching his stomach. 

“My lord?” said Morgana, sitting up and clutching the amulet that adorned the perfect porcelain skin of her exquisite neck, her eyes flashing yellow by the candlelight. “My lord, will you not come to bed? My lord, I am waiting for you…”

But Cenred did not answer. Instead he fell to his knees, retching, body wracked with spasms, his enthusiasm for despoiling his bride quite dimmed. 

***

Morgana had always known that her fate would be to marry some high born lord to cement Camelot’s position in the five kingdoms. But this match weighed heavily on her. Cenred was a petulant, despicable weasel, one who bullied and blustered to get his way. There was little to admire in his personality and during the long journey from Camelot he had hurt her, showing himself to be cruel and lacking in any compassion. 

Clutching at her magical amulet, she watched him now with a sneer upon her face as he writhed in seeming agony on the cold flags. Good. The protection that Merlin had worked into the jewel was working. For once, Merlin had not lied to her. The thought did little to ease her sense of betrayal at his earlier silence on the subject of his magic. For weeks – months! he had allowed her to confide in him about her suffering without once hinting that he, too, had magic. A fierce anger still burned in her heart as she recalled, humiliated, how she saw herself as a monster. How dare he stay silent? How dare he!

She padded, bare foot, over to the door, beckoning to a servant. 

“My lord is indisposed,” she said demurely. “I would retire to my own chambers until he recovers.” 

“Of course, my lady.” The servant stammered. “At once.” 

She paused in the doorway to take in the vision that Cenred’s squirming form offered her before walking, head held high, to her own private rooms. A pair of guards escorted her to the cold, high part of the castle where her belongings had been left – presumably chosen for its remoteness and how difficult it would be for her to leave it without alerting anybody. 

Once inside, she slotted the heaviest bag she could find against the door, and moved the simple cot that she found there to block it, piling everything she could find onto it for weight, and then wedging a chair against it to keep it closed. Thus secured, as much as she could be, she gave herself over to a bout of bitter weeping at her fate. 

“Oh, Gwen,” she sobbed, unravelling the lilac ribbon that she had kept safe around her wrist and bestowing kisses upon it. Was Gwen even alive? Uther’s threats against her had been vile. She could only hope that Merlin had managed to free her, as he had promised. “I wish it were you that I had wed. I will find you. I promise. I will find you and never leave.” 

Curling up on the furs by the hearth, she wept until her throat was hoarse and held the ribbon close. 

Upon waking, Morgana blinked at the bare wood ceiling, eyes raw from weeping. 

“My lady?”

There was an urgent knocking at her door. 

“My lady? Are you all right? It’s the maid. I can’t open the door?” 

“Please leave me. I have a headache.” 

“Can I fetch you anything?”

“No, thank you. I just need to rest.” 

Morgana should probably ask after her husband, to save herself from another beating, but at this point her heart was too heavy and she could not bring herself to. Instead, she sat beside her bed and fished in her bags, bringing out a crumpled parchment, which she spread out on the bare desk by her bedside and blinked at, eyes swimming. 

***

[LETTER READS: 

> _My Dearest Lady Morgana_
> 
> _Forgive me, for this is a difficult letter to write and I do not have much time. I am so sorry for all that has happened. Marriage should be between two people who love one another as you and Gwen love one another, not to cement alliances. Cenred is a brute and a coward. You are worth a hundred of him._
> 
> _I heard Uther's threat to Gwen. Noone should be forced to marry to protect those they love! Alas, Arthur's heart is deceived, for he loves and trusts his father, but I saw your face with my own two eyes and my heart burns for you both. I have a plan for helping Gwen to escape and will take her to a place of safety, where Uther cannot hurt her. She sends this ribbon as a token of her love, and bids you not to despair for she will keep you forever in her heart._
> 
> _As for you, the rest of your wedding gift will help you, dearest Morgana. Wear the amulet, which has magical powers and will help you to resist Cenred's advances. He will not know why, and he will not blame you; he will just find that he is unable to force himself on you and will fall ill if he tries. But he will not be patient forever. Which is why I am taking this risk now, despite all Gaius's protestations, for I fear your need for help is greater than my need for secrecy._
> 
> _This book… this book is a book of spells. Take it. Hide it. Do not let Cenred see it! While he is indisposed, learn from it in secret. You are not alone, Morgana. For I, too, have magic. I too am forced to hide who I am. When the time comes and the amulet no longer prevents, him, you will need to have learned to control and focus your magic against him. Keep it secret. Keep it safe!_
> 
> _I implore you to burn this letter when you have read it, so that both of us remain safe from discovery. I will try to ensure that Gwen sends word to Essetir when she is free._
> 
> _With love from a friend_

LETTER ENDS]

“With love from a friend,” she said, lip curling at the clumsy subterfuge. As if she did not recognise Merlin’s handwriting! “Some friend you turned out to be,” she whispered under her breath as she re-read this much studied letter, betrayal tugging at her heart and making her throat close in anguish. Her eyes smarted. “Why could you not tell me earlier? I confided everything to you. Everything!” 

When she had first read this letter on the day of her sham wedding, she had scarcely believed it herself. If he had magic, why would Merlin come to Camelot, let alone ally himself with Arthur? And if he were her friend as he had said, why had he never confided in her as she had confided in him? 

Her feelings swirled around her in tangled knots, hope warring with bitterness and despair as she clutched at the amulet. Much as it could protect her from Cenred, it did nothing to soothe the deeper betrayal of being sent away from her home and everyone she held dear, to be at the mercy of a monster. And for what crime? For the crime of loving a maidservant? How could anyone not love Gwen? 

But she would be foolish not to realise that, if Morgana’s position at court was precarious, Merlin’s was more so. If Uther ever found out about his magic, he would have Merlin executed without a thought. 

And so Merlin kept his own talents secret, at the expense of being able to help people like Morgana to come to terms with theirs. 

But despite this knowledge of the danger that Merlin placed himself in by writing it, and despite all the opportunities offered by the pandemonium of her hastily arranged wedding and subsequent departure, Morgana had kept the letter. 

She should destroy it, now. He was right; it condemned them both. But something stayed her hand. The resentment, perhaps, at Merlin failing to help her. And something a little more than that, too. Because knowledge was power. And if there was one thing Morgana hated about her current station in life and was determined to change, it was her powerlessness. 

She gazed now at the merry fire whose flames licked at the chimney in the room where she had been left. Perhaps she had been foolish, to risk keeping this letter. If Cenred were to find it, she would suffer indeed. And yet, she found herself reluctant to relinquish this tiny symbol of her power over a man. After all, if Cenred found the book that accompanied it, she would be equally in danger. And she had no intention of destroying that. Not when the book offered her so much more than just power over one other person; the book offered her the power to master her own destiny, which was all she had ever wanted. 

For the book, a heavy leather-bound tome, dusty and worn from much prior use, described how to use magic in a thousand different ways. By studying it in secret, she would win a chance to break free of this hellish marriage for once and for all. 

With a hasty flick of her hand, she stowed the letter back in her personal belongings and pulled out the book. Leather bound, thick and musty, it held all the promise that she hoped for. Promise of escape, of protection, and of one day returning to her beloved. 

To Gwen. 

Her lip wobbled as she remembered the last time she and Gwen had kissed. That final, heady moment before their discovery had blown a permanent hole in all her hopes and wishes. Putting one finger to her mouth, she closed her eyes and imagined the soft press of Gwen’s lips on hers, the sweet heady scent of her, the warmth of her sunkissed skin, and her eyes stung. 

But weeping would not help her. Hardening her heart with a steely resolve, she pressed one more kiss to the lilac ribbon around her wrist before opening the book. 

It might take weeks - or months, even. But she would get away from the monster, Cenred. In the meantime, she would have to rely on Merlin’s amulet to protect her from his predations. 

The amulet offered her hope, but the book offered her so much more. 

***

Gwen stood behind Hunith’s chair gently pulling a comb through Hunith’s hair, pausing at the most stubborn tangles. It was soothing work, work that she missed. 

“You have very gentle hands,” murmured Hunith. 

“I have to,” said Gwen. “Mor— my lady’s hair could become terribly knotted, especially if she had been out riding.” Her voice wobbled a bit when she started to say Morgana’s name, and her vision blurred. 

Hunith’s hand on hers stilled it. “You miss her, I know you do. I’m sorry.” 

“I do,” said Gwen, sniffing as she resumed combing. Hunith’s hair, though greying at the temples, was still thick and supple. “I hope to be reunited with her, one day. Merlin says that he will do everything in his power to nullify the marriage and bring her back to me.” 

“He is terribly stubborn, so I do not doubt that he will,” said Hunith, kindly. “After all, he managed to bring you to me, did he not?” 

The warmth that filled her voice when she spoke about her son filling Gwen with melancholy. She had never known her own mother, and until now had not missed her. But separated as she was from everyone she held dear, she had never felt so alone. 

“She is very resourceful, your lady,” added Hunith. “I am sure she will break free of Cenred’s control, if she wishes.” 

“She does, I am sure of it,” said Gwen vehemently. 

They sat in companionable silence while the fire hissed and crackled and of their own volition, Gwen’s fingers braided Hunith’s hair into an elaborate knot that sat on her head. After the terror of her escape and the fatigue brought on by her flight, it was soothing to do something so familiar and domestic with her fingers. 

“There,” she said when she had finished. “Now you look as elegant as any lady of Camelot.” 

“I look… so different. Thank you,” whispered Hunith as she stared into the glass that Gwen gave her, and flashed her a glance that was full of surprise and gratitude. 

“You have been so kind and welcoming, it is the least I could do,” replied Gwen with a sad smile of her own. 

Hunith patted her hand. “There is one other thing you can do for me, if you are willing.” 

“If it is in my power, I will do it.” 

Hunith sighed. “You say that now that you do not know what I am asking and the truth is that… that you may regret it but… Why don’t you come with me in the morning? And then you can decide for yourself.” 

By the time the daylight crept in through the chinks in the wood, Hunith was already up feeding the hens and collecting eggs to distribute to other villagers. Gwen joined her in this task, carrying a basket of fresh hens’ eggs on her arm. The sun was low on the horizon, and their breath raised misty ghosts in the frosty air. 

“So, what is this mysterious job you would have me do?” 

“Come and see.” 

They stopped at a small, hut at the edge of the village. Although it seemed sturdily built and the timbers strong, it had a run down air. The thatch was missing straw in one or two spots and the door propped open with a stick. There was a fire smoking inside, its smoke filling the hut with pungent fumes that made her want to gag. A goat stood in one corner, chewing the cud and eyeing Gwen with a baleful stare. 

On a nearby cot lay a wizened figure. 

“Good morning Grandmother Alice.” Hunith hastened towards the cot, dragging a stinking chamber pot out from beneath it, her nose wrinkling. “I’ll just empty this out for you, shall I?”

Hovering in the doorway, Gwen lifted her scarf up against a sudden overpowering smell. It reminded her of sickness, of old age and of death. 

“Huh. It’s you again, is it? Where’s that good for nothing son of yours?” grumbled the woman.

“Merlin went away, dear Alice.” 

“Eh? Speak up!” The woman cupped her ear.

“I said, Merlin went away,” Hunith repeated, shouting loudly.

“No need to shout! Gone away, is he? It’s the first I heard of it. Lazy good-for-nothing! I expect he’s in jail by now. Always getting into mischief, that one. I did say, didn’t I? Mark my words, I said, he’ll end up in the dun—” 

“I’ve brought you some eggs,” yelled Hunith. 

“Hate eggs,” said Alice, struggling to sit up in the cot. She coughed violently into a handkerchief. “Why don’t you bring me something decent, hmm?”

Hunith flashed Gwen a smile that said “what can you do?” and started over to the fire, where a pan stood simmering. “I see you have a broth on. Shall I cook some eggs in it?”

“Do what you want,” shrugged Alice. “Who’s this with you now? Some other criminal is it?”

Gwen bit her lip. 

“No, she’s my guest, and I’ll thank you if you were kind to her, Alice,” scolded Hunith. “She’s helping me for a few days and if you don’t scare her away she might come and tell you stories.” 

“Stories, eh?” The woman glared at Gwen, biting her lip with a solitary, blackened tooth, before beckoning her over. She took Gwen’s hand, stroking her palm with a wizened finger. “Huh. I do like stories. Soft hands, this one has. The hands of a princess.” 

“Oh, I’m hardly a princess,” said Gwen. “Although I did know one, once.” 

“Well, sit down then, and tell me about her.” 

After shooting an enquiring look at Hunith and being answered by a smile and a nod, Gwen settled on the chair beside Alice, breathing through her mouth and trying not to wrinkle her nose. 

“Well, then. Tell me of this princess of yours,” said Alice. “I expect she was very beautiful.” 

“Oh yes. Her hair as black as a raven’s feathers, skin as pale as milk and soft as silk. She and I were… we were friends.” 

“Friends, eh?” 

Stung at the sceptical note in Alice’s voice, Gwen hastened to add, “Oh, yes we were! She used to make me laugh, so much.” 

“But still she was a princess. So she looked down on those lowlier than her, as all princesses do.” 

“Oh, no! Not Morgana! She did not see station!” 

“Huh.” Alice scoffed. “You are deceived. All those who think themselves noble look down on the ordinary people who make their lives possible.” 

“I know the sort of person you mean, but my lady was so far from that!” Indignant, Gwen raised her voice to protest, because Morgana was not like the sort of spoiled noble that Alice was talking of. “She fought against injustice of all kinds. Why, she taught me my letters and… No-one else ever thought that a mere handmaid could learn such things. We would make puzzles for one another. Word games. We used to have so much fun, making up secret messages under everyone else’s noses.” 

“Hmm,” said Alice. “Maybe she was one of those rare things, a wise noble.” 

“Wise, and oh so kind.” 

“Hmm. What happened to her, this princess of yours?” 

“She was kidnapped and taken far away by a brute of a man who insisted that she become his wife.” 

“A man, huh?” Alice made a rude noise that indicated her disdain for men in general and this one in particular. “Poor woman. Tell me more about her.” 

Against her will, Gwen began to warm to Alice, despite the ugliness of her gnarled fingers, scarred with arthritis as they were, and the grimness of the smell that pervaded the hovel where she lived. But what could Hunith possibly want her to do for the old woman? 

Later, when she and Hunith were back in Hunith’s homely cottage, she asked her. 

“It would just be such a kindness if you could spend time with her,” said Hunith. “And it would help me, too. I would have more time to spend on the livestock.” 

“I would be happy to help,” said Gwen, surprising herself when she realised that it was the honest truth. There was something about Alice that intrigued her. 

“Merlin used to adore her,” Hunith said. “She used to feed him sweetmeats when he was small.” 

“I have noticed that he has a sweet tooth. But she said she didn’t like him!” 

Hunith laughed. “Oh, no. Don’t be fooled. Underneath that unfriendly figure lurks the kindest soul in all the Five Kingdoms. She adored Merlin and was bereft when he left the village.” 

“And… he has never told me,” said Gwen. “Why did Merlin leave Ealdor?” 

Hunith turned sad eyes on her. “I think it’s best if he tells you that,” she said eventually.

***

Cenred had placed Morgana in a room in a tower, high above the fortress. It lacked the basic comforts and luxuries that she had become accustomed to in Camelot, like glass in the windows and a privy. Instead a perpetual draught swept through the room, making the torches gutter and candles burn down low. The bed was simple and the linens scratchy. In one corner sat a writing desk – a basic, no-nonsense thing of rough-hewn wood. The ceilings were low and squat. 

Upon the floor, bare floorboards were covered by a threadbare rug that had worn through in one or two places. By working on one of these, she managed to lift it and place her most precious items beneath, covering the board with the rug so that the newly smoothed edges did not show. 

From time to time Cenred would send for her and gloat as he paraded her in front of his court, his prize, the symbol of his mastery. But still, he could not master her body. Merlin’s amulet saw to that. 

Instead, his glittering eyes followed her wherever she went, filled with malice and a hunger that made her shiver. Her only contact with the outside world was the view she had through her high window of the sky, sometimes blue, sometimes overcast, and the constant sigh and whistle of the wind. From time to time, a serving person would appear and leave food for her, but she found her appetite much diminished. 

One advantage of the constantly open windows appeared to her on a blustery morning some days after she arrived at the stronghold. She was poring over the book of spells that Merlin had left her, practicing igniting and snuffing the candles, when a sudden deep noise drew her attention. It sounded almost like a cat, or a pigeon, but deeper and more guttural. Curious, she looked up at the high window. There, head tilted on one side sat a raven, her head a glossy black, her eyes inquisitive and shining with intelligence. Every few seconds, a film of white blinked over her eyes. 

Tradition in Camelot was that ravens were bad luck and although Uther dismissed such concerns as mere superstition, he still had any that were found captured or shot, in the same way as he had magic users executed. Perhaps that was why Morgana felt a sudden affinity for the bird – or maybe she was just lonely. 

“Hello!” whispered Morgana, rising slowly, pulling some crumbs of bread from her plate and placing them on the table. She backed away. “Go on!” 

The raven let out that odd sound again before hopping down onto Morgana’s desk and pecking at the crumbs she had left. After which, she blinked back at Morgana and let out another odd sound, as if to ask for more. 

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Morgana’s chest and she scrabbled around on her plate for some more scraps. “I haven’t got much left, today,” she said. “But you can have this.”

The raven cawed, making Morgana laugh again. “It’s as if you can talk.” 

“Hello!” said the raven. “Hello, Athena. Hello. Hello.”

“What sorcery is this?” whispered Morgana, astounded. “You _can_ talk! Hello.” 

“Hello,” said the bird again. It hopped over to Morgana’s shoulder, nuzzling at her hair. “Hello. Hello, Athena. Hello!”

No sorcery, then. Just a tame bird. But even so, it was all Morgana could do not to shriek out in alarm. But she forced herself to stay calm, willing herself to stop trembling. The bird seemed unconcerned, dipping its head to nuzzle at her cheek. Feeling greatly daring, she reached up to scratch at its head. 

“Hello,” said the bird approvingly, blinking its milky blink. “Hello, Athena. Hello.” 

There was a sudden pounding at the door. “My Lady? My Lord Cenred commands your appearance.” 

Alarmed, the bird fluttered up to the window ledge, let out one more brief hello, and then was gone. 

“Goodbye!” Morgana said, suddenly bereft. “Goodbye Athena. Come back soon.” 

She might have imagined it, but on the edge of hearing, she thought she could just detect an answering “Hello, Athena,” drifting in on the wind.

***

It was now a few weeks after the mysterious white-haired wizard freed her from the dungeons. Gwen lay in the tiny bed that had once been Merlin’s and wept for her lost love. 

All Gwen had to remember Morgana by was a strand of her hair, held in a locket that she kept safe around her neck. She held onto it now, stifling her whimpers as she wiped her eyes. For the main part, she was staying cheerful during the day as she helped Hunith tend to her crops and her animals. With her hands kept busy, there was little time left for brooding. 

But at night, when the quiet sounds of the village stilled into silence and Hunith’s breathing was the only sign of another living thing, Gwen allowed herself to grieve for what had been growing between her and Morgana over the weeks before their discovery. Morgana was married and spirited away, and Merlin’s mother’s kindness, however warm and gently bestowed, could not compensate for that loss. 

Biting her lip to quell the painful sobs that shook her body, she told herself that where there was life there was hope. When the old wizard Dragoon led her here, fending off any dangers along their route, he kept up a litany of outrageous complaints that were enough to make her smile more than once. Amid his grumbles about his blisters and bunions and the tightness of his boots, not to mention the unseasonable warmth of the weather, he told her not to despair, for she had friends in Camelot who would see to it that Morgana would be freed. 

Although it would have been easy to dismiss this statement, there was something familiar about the wizard’s eyes, some spark of warmth deep in their pale blue that somehow made her trust his words. 

As she lay there, her heart filled with yearning, she became aware of a tap-tapping sound at the door. 

Curious, she dried her eyes and rose quietly, eyes accustomed to the gloom in the bare hut, which was lit only by the glowing embers of the fire. She pushed past the linen cloth that separated the cot where she slept from the main part of the room, sensing from the slow, calm breathing sounds behind another cloth that Hunith was still asleep. Arriving at the drafty wooden door, she lifted the latch and peeped outside into the gloom. 

There on the doorstep stood a bird, its feathers as dark as the night. As she squinted at it, she saw that it was holding up one of its clawed feet. 

Heart hammering, she stooped to examine it. Attached to the foot by a fine, red thread was a small piece of parchment, rolled up small. 

“What is it? Is it a message? For me?” 

The bird let out a single croak then stood obligingly still, holding out its leg. It was a raven. A raven! The townsfolk she had grown up with would throw stones at ravens, saying that they were bad luck, but her father had always told her that the birds were the messengers of the gods and should be respected, not persecuted. Whatever the bird represented, this was a moment that might change everything. Little wonder that Gwen’s pulse raced as she gently worked to free the thread. 

Once it was free, she unrolled it but could not make out the message in the darkness. The bird sat on the doorstep, blinking up at her. As she turned to go back inside, it hopped up onto her shoulder. She tamped down a shriek of alarm, putting her free hand to her mouth so as not to wake Hunith. 

“Right,” she whispered behind her hand, a hysterical laugh threatening to bubble up in her throat. “So you want to come with me, do you?” 

“Hello Athena!” said the bird, bowing its head. 

“Right. I see. First a message, and now a talking bird.” Feeling greatly daring, she reached up with one hand and petted it under its chin. Its feathers were soft and warm beneath her fingers. Somehow, she knew that the bird would not harm her. 

“Hello Athena!” said the bird again. It allowed itself to be placed on the hearth where it stood, preening for a moment before tucking its head beneath its wing to roost. 

Lighting a taper from the fire’s embers, Gwen lit a candle and knelt beside the roosting raven to read. 

***

[LETTER READS: 

> _Dearest Gwen_
> 
> _My dearest love._
> 
> _I must start by saying I do not have much time._
> 
> _Like a fool, I start my letter by telling you that I still live in hope. Over the last weeks if anything my hope has grown. Very likely, Uther has acted to imprison you or worse and yet still, my hope rises. Every day._
> 
> _Yes, he is a tyrant. Of course, he is, but there are others on our side. Uppermost in my mind is the hope that they will have helped you._
> 
> _Surely, I would know if our sacred bond had been severed. Each day, my heart yearns for you. No vast endless sea nor ocean could quench the love in my heart. Dare I hope that you live and love me still?_
> 
> _With hope in my heart, I wait, sorrowing. Oh, Gwen, please know that I love you. Receive this letter with my love inside it and be happy. Do not despair!_
> 
> _Be safe, that is all I ask. Your safety and happiness mean everything to me._
> 
> _Remember me always. A love once held will remain with you forever. Visions cannot blur this eternal emotion. Everything that is mine is yours. Now and forever._
> 
> _I hope to see you again one day._
> 
> _Hope is my friend. And my foe. Vanquished, I lie abed and pine. Even though I know the hope is remote, still I hold it inside me._
> 
> _More than that, I hold precious memories of your sweet kisses. A thousand of them would never suffice. Go forth and be happy, knowing that you are loved and treasured. I cherish the memory of our time together and remain forever yours. Cenred cannot erase you from my memory._
> 
> _Morgana_
> 
> _xx_

LETTER ENDS ]

“My poor, dear love,” whispered Gwen, hand flying to her mouth to stifle the tiny sounds that threatened to come out. Her heart clenched as she read and re-read the letter, pondering both the words and the hidden message they conveyed, her mind spiralling as she considered the implications of the letters spelled out by the last paragraph. A hot tear rolled down the end of her nose and dropped onto the parchment, smearing Morgana’s words. “My poor, poor darling. What is that brute doing to you? Oh, how I miss you. I wish I could be with you.” 

She looked around her, hoping to find a parchment and quill to return the letter. But where would she find parchment and a quill pen in this hut? Her eyes were so watery, she could barely see the words in front of her as it was. At that moment she realised that the hut had fallen silent. She could not hear Hunith’s breathing any more. She looked up, to see Hunith’s face peeping at her from behind her linen. 

“Gwen?” said Hunith enquiringly, padding barefoot across the straw and dirt to kneel by her side, her hand warm on Gwen’s back. 

“Hello Athena,” said the bird, its head on one side. 

Startled, Hunith drew back. “Why is there a bird in here? Did you let him in?” 

Gwen could not speak. She offered up the letter, which Hunith read by the light of the candle while Gwen buried her head in her hands and wept. 

“Oh, my dear.” 

“She’s all alone, and he’s a brute, and she’s stuck there with… with… ugh, and I have no idea how she is, and the thought of what he is doing to her… that… that _animal_ , and I miss her so much,” Gwen sobbed. “I love her, it’s just horrible to think of her being trapped, I want her with me always, I don’t know what to do, I want to write to her, she thinks I’m dead!” 

“There, love.” Hunith’s arm snaked around her shoulders and she passed her a handkerchief. “There. It’s all right. She is strong. It’s all right.” 

After the storm had passed, Gwen blew her nose and flashed Hunith a watery smile. “Thank you,” she said. 

“There. Hold still. I will get you something.” Hunith rose and ducked behind the cloth again for a moment. 

Gwen wondered where she was going but then she remembered that, although the hut was humble, Merlin could read and write. He must have learned that from his mother. Perhaps she did have a quill and some ink after all? 

Sure enough, a few minutes later Hunith returned with a piece of fresh parchment, a quill pen, and a jar of precious ink. She knelt again by Gwen’s side. 

“Here. Write to your lady. She must be worried sick about you.” 

Dashing the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, Gwen took the offered quill pen and paused for a moment, before dipping it in the ink and writing in careful letters so as not to smear it. She kept her writing as small as she could, hoping that the raven could carry the parchment without trouble. It had brought Morgana’s to her safely, so why not? 

***

[LETTER READS: 

> _My love_
> 
> _I start by saying I love you always._
> 
> _A star starts to shine for us. My heart sings to hear that you are alive._
> 
> _If you love me still, do not despair. No force can keep us forever separated._
> 
> _Even as we speak, our friends work to keep us safe. As you suspected, a friend has brought me to safety. A sorcerer with a white beard brought me here. Let it not be said that we are alone. Do not worry, I am waiting for you. Oh, how I long to hold you in my arms! Remember me fondly, my dearest, for I am forever yours._
> 
> _Gwen x_

LETTER ENDS]

The problem with being disguised as an octogenarian was that despite the fact that Merlin had not lived through eighty years, nevertheless his old bones felt every day of them when the weather made the biting cold of the north wind seep through his clothes and into the marrows of his bones. 

And so it was that as his horse clattered through the courtyard of the slumbering citadel, hooves scrunching on the glistening frost-covered ground, his thoughts were turning to a bowl of hot gruel and some spiced mead to wash it down with. But he had duties to perform first. Walking his mare up to the stables, he slid painfully off her back, wincing at the way that his bones creaked and his sinews protested. 

He led her into the stables, checking through the gloom to make sure that none of the lads were awake. In the next stool, Llamrei snickered out a greeting which Merlin’s mare returned with a harrumph of her own. But apart from the warm breath of the horses and the sickly-sweet smell of their stabling, Merlin could sense noone else nearby. With a grateful flash of his fingers, he whispered the spell to return him to his usual form. The magic flashed through him, making him shudder and clamp his jaw firmly shut to avoid crying out as it straightened his spine with an audible click. Once restored to his normal youthful self, he set about grooming his mare, giving her a few brushes and petting her nose in thanks, before pottering out to the shed containing fodder to bring her some oats. She bent to them with enthusiasm. 

Age banished for now, but still wincing from the deep ache that lingered in his muscles, Merlin set his feet towards Gaius’s quarters where he hoped to follow his horse’s lead in taking refreshment, only for his hopes to be cruelly dashed. As he walked along the cloister, a hand snaked out of the gloom beneath one unlit arch to grab him by the scruff of his neckerchief, and he found himself unceremoniously propelled beneath the arch to face the stern, accusing jaw of his master. 

But perhaps Arthur, seeing Merlin’s travel-weary appearance, would let him rest before questioning him? 

“Where have you been?” snapped the prince. “Your horse was gone all day and all last night.” 

Merlin groaned inwardly. Evidently not. 

“I went to visit my mother,” he said truthfully. 

Arthur’s eyes, already black in the gloomy half-light of the flickering torches, narrowed to tight, accusing slits. 

“The last time your horse was missing for so long, someone helped Gwen to escape and I had to cover for your skinny little arse or you would have fallen under my father’s suspicion.” he hissed. “So forgive me if I am sceptical.” 

“You’re forgiven,” Merlin said, trying to make light of the situation. 

“That was a rhetorical statement, and you knew it.” Arthur punched him on the arm, hard. 

It was a habit of his that Merlin knew meant affection rather than malice, but in his fragile state it made him wince anyway. 

“Ow!” he rubbed at the sore patch, with a mock wounded expression. “Bully.” 

“Where is Gwen?”

“Whatever makes you think that I…” 

Merlin could see the whites of Arthur’s eyes when he rolled them. 

“Don’t prevaricate, you insolent yokel,” said Arthur. “Or I’ll have you thrown in the stocks. Let’s assume that I know it was you who released Guinevere from the dungeons, and I know you’ve been to visit her, shall we?”

“But--” 

“ _Now._ What did she make of the letter from Morgana?” 

“What makes you think that I--?” 

“It was missing from my desk, you bumptious bumpkin. Now, spill the beans. What did Guinevere say?”

Merlin swallowed and darted a furtive glance around the cloister. 

“Not here,” he said, sighing, limbs drooping a little as he realised that the only thing fading faster than his fantasy of a hot meal and hot drink was his chance of getting a good night’s sleep. 

“Fine.” Sure enough, Arthur’s grip on Merlin’s upper arm tightened. “You can come to my chambers and tell me all about it.” A well-aimed shove to Merlin’s back sent him staggering forward. It was all he could do not to lose his balance. 

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a hot meal being brought?” he said, righting himself and holding back a yawn.

“Mm? Come to think of it, you do look even more pathetic than usual, I suppose,” said Arthur, peering closely at him as they fell into step. “I can have some cold gruel sent up.”

“Generous of you.” 

“Let it not be said that I am ungenerous towards my citizens, _Mer_ lin.” 

Merlin cocked his head on one side, raising a hopeful eyebrow. “And a tankard of hot spiced mead?” 

“Don’t push it,” growled Arthur.

“Just some ale, then. I’m parched after a long ride. Ealdor’s quite a distance, you know...” 

“You’ll have water, and like it.” 

But when Arthur paused to exchange a word with the guard on duty at the base of the tower that housed Arthur’s chambers, Merlin overheard the muttered words “mutton stew” and “spiced mead” before the fellow scampered off. 

“Spiced mead? So you do love me.” Merlin grinned and took off at a run, hoping to reach Arthur’s chambers before Arthur could catch him. But his fatigue would not allow him to take the steps two at a time, so the prince caught him half way up, and overtook him with a triumphant “Gotcha!”

“Oh, very clever, overtaking someone who’s been riding for two days,” called Merlin, adding “Competitive prat,” under his breath. 

“I heard that, you presumptuous peasant.” 

***

Later, after Merlin has eaten his fill and swallowed down enough spiced mead to dispel all the lingering cold that always stayed with him after spending time as Dragoon, Arthur put his plate to one side with a decisive air, replacing it with a bowl of nuts. 

“Right. That’s long enough.” He pulled a nut out of the bowl and cracked it with a nutcracker, tossing the kernel into his mouth. “Time to talk.”

“I don’t get to wash before you interrogate me?”

“It’s not an interrogation, Merlin. It’s a field report. And I’ve put up with your stink for ten minutes, I can survive a few more. Now report.” Arthur tossed the broken nutshell into the fire, making the flames hiss. 

“But—”

“No buts, Merlin. You’re not going to wriggle out of this.” Arthur glared at him from beneath his brows, an intimidating expression that he’d learned from Uther. Or perhaps, it was something that all princes were taught in King school or something. Whatever it came from, it had the required impact of the person being questioned, which was that of a hapless insect being pinned for inspection. “What did Gwen have to say about the parchment?” 

“She agreed that it looked nothing like Morgana.” Merlin bit his lip, wondering whether to divulge the other information that Gwen shared – the letter Morgana had managed to deliver to her by raven – but decided against it. At this point, there were other more urgent items to convey. Kicking his legs up onto the desk, he stared up at the ceiling and tried to work out which one to tell Arthur about first. 

Of course, as soon as he delivered the bombshell about deciphering the coded letter, pandemonium would erupt. So if he wanted to rest his weary limbs for a little longer, he should concentrate on the rest. “First of all, she thinks Morgana is suffering and knows that she would never betray her.” 

“Of course not. But what of the rumours that Cenred is secretly amassing an army? What does she say about those?” 

Merlin snorted. He might have known that Arthur would get straight to the heart of the matter. After all, Arthur was at heart a strategist and a warlord. And it came as no surprise that Arthur has missed Gwen’s council. 

“She agrees.” Merlin sighed. He thought for a moment before adding, deliberately, “and so does my mother.” 

“Your mother. She’s staying with your mother.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Yes.” 

“Does telling me that not endanger them both?” 

“Not if no-one tells your father.” Taking a hazelnut from the bowl, Merlin held out a hand. “And I know you would never endanger either of them.” 

Arthur grunted and tossed another cracked nutshell into the fire before passing Merlin the nutcracker. “You grant me too much trust.” 

“I don’t think so.” Merlin lifted his chin in challenge and regarded Arthur through soft eyes for a poignant second in which their gazes locked. “I have always known that you are worthy of my trust. I have always believed in you.” 

The glow from the fire underlit Arthur’s jaw, giving him a proud, kingly silhouette and the way the light flickered made his hair glow. It seemed to crown him in flames. The picture stopped Merlin’s heart for a moment, which is why he had no inkling of the revelation that would shortly follow. 

“Then why have you never trusted me with your magic?” 

Blindsided, Merlin gaped. “My what?”

“Your magic.” Arthur regarded him calmly, as if he had not just exploded Merlin’s world view and smashed it to pieces on the floor of his chambers. 

Unable to dissemble as he should, Merlin placed his hands on trembling legs already weak with fatigue, and willed his scattered thoughts to assemble. They did not obey him, instead focussing on the nobility of Arthur’s kingly nose, of his rugged jaw, providing him with no words to back out of the situation. 

“You know about that?” he said at last, failing to disguise the way his voice trembled at the gravity of the news that he had been discovered. 

“Really, Merlin, if you’re going to break your oldest friend out of Camelot’s safest dungeons, what other conclusion do you expect me to reach?” 

Arthur crunched another hazelnut. Merlin watched his jaw working, mesmerized. 

“Which is why I knew that eventually you would decipher Morgana’s message in the end. So I never mentioned any of this to my father. Your secret is safe with me, Merlin.” 

Really, Arthur had no business being so insightful. Wrongfooted, Merlin blinked back a sudden wave of emotion that made his vision blur and his heart stutter. 

“I misjudged you,” he whispered at last. “I thought you would…” he didn’t finished the sentence, not sure what he thought Arthur would do with the knowledge of his magic. 

“Perhaps once, I would have—” Arthur shook his head. “But things have changed since then. I have changed. I am not the man I was when first you came to Camelot.” 

They sat in silence for some minutes while Arthur tactfully threw more broken nutshells into the fire and Merlin willed his shoulders to stop shaking and his eyes to stop leaking, because he had urgent news to deliver and it needed to be delivered that night. 

Merlin was just trying to work out how to phrase his message when Arthur beat him to it, again. 

“You did decipher Morgana’s message.” Again, it was not a question and again, despite Merlin’s pressing mission, it seemed that Arthur was the one who would be delivering the surprises and revelations today. 

“Gwen did, actually.” Sighing, Merlin drew the now crumpled parchment out of his pocket and handed it to Arthur, not willing to trust his own voice to state the facts, and knowing that Gwen’s red ink stains would do the work for him. 

***

[LETTER READS: 

> _The earlier letter from Morgana to Arthur has had the first letters of each sentence underlined in red ink. These first letters, written out in order, spell out a message, written at the bottom of the page in red ink where someone has written "The first letters of each sentence spell out: SEND HELP, CENRED WILL KILL ME AND INVADE CAMELOT."_

LETTER ENDS]

Frowning as he read through the parchment, his brow split by a line of concentration, Arthur stayed silent. As well he might. After some moments, he put the parchment aside with a sigh and rubbed his hand across his eyes.

“We have all been stupid,” he said.

“Yes," sighed Merlin. "We should have asked Gwen straight away.” 

“How did she know?” 

“She and Morgana used to create codes like this and leave private messages for one another. She said that the use of the word _start t_ wice at the beginning of a message is one of the clues that they used. It means to spell out words with the first letter of each sentence in the paragraph. She understood straight away.” 

Arthur looked up then, his stricken expression making Merlin’s heart clench. “Morgana is in deadly danger. I have failed her. She could be dead already. And I have failed Camelot.” He jabbed at the parchment with his forefinger. “For surely this corroborates the rumours…” 

“No, Arthur.” Weary as he was, Merlin would do anything to erase the hurt that flashed through his prince’s eyes. “You… _we_ have not failed her yet. We can still act.” Heart in his mouth, he added before his courage could fail him. “I gave her some magical items that will keep her safe from Cenred for a while. I hope, until we can get there and free her from his grasp. And at the same time, thanks to her courage, we can eliminate the threat that is building at our borders.” 

Arthur gaped at him for a moment. “You gave her magical items? You risked telling her about your magic?”

Merlin swallowed. “Yes, Arthur. It was a risk I know, but it was my risk to take and well. I am sorry, but I did not want her to fall prey to him.” 

“You are right.” All signs of indecision gone, Arthur leaped to his feet. “I must tell my father at once.” 

“Coming, Sire.” With a wince, Merlin made to pull his travel-weary bones out of his seat. 

“No. Not you, Merlin. You have done enough.” Arthur turned on his way to the door and raised his hand. “I’ll have a bath sent up. You get clean and get some sleep. I ride in the morning with my best knights, and with or without my father’s permission.” 

“I’m coming with you.” There was no way that he would let the self-sacrificing prat out of his sight now. 

“But you’re tired, Merlin.” 

“You’re forgetting that I have magic.” As if magic could banish the fatigue that sapped his strength and dragged his muscles down towards the floor. But Arthur was not to know that. 

“I suppose you do.” Tilting one side of his mouth up in a fond half smile, Arthur shook his head. “You’ll probably just follow me anyway, won’t you?”

“You know me too well.” Merlin grinned. 

“Well, in that case, you had better prepare yourself for a long ride.” Arthur returned Merlin’s grin with a soft-eyed smile of his own. 

***

Gwen slipped on her boots and followed Hunith, slipping on the wet mud outside the hut, as the grey dawn started to filter through the trees above the village. Far off, a cock started to crow. 

“What’s the hurry?” she said, finding her balance on the slithery path, worn smooth by generations of feet, some booted, some bare. 

“Alice. She is asking for you.” 

Heart sinking, Gwen followed Hunith in silence. The old woman had been clinging on to life over the last few weeks of wintertide, and during the early spring. As they approached, a beam of sunshine erupted over the horizon, alighting gold and full of hope on the trailing rose that Gwen had trimmed and tied to the trellis outside Alice’s home. 

Over the last few weeks, as the days had begun to grow longer and the sun rode higher in the sky, Gwen and Hunith had planted seeds that Hunith had saved from the patch of land behind her house. So now, instead of the once tangled patch of weeds in front of Alice’s hut, a bare patch of well-tilled soil sported burgeoning shoots that were beginning to curl around sturdy canes that Gwen had erected. Against the wall of the hut grew hopeful tendrils of pea plants while over in one well-dug patch feathery first-leaves from the root vegetables were beginning to form. 

All around them, the sounds of the village waking the air – here a cow lowing on its route to be milked, there the bleat of a hungry kid sucking at its mother’s teat. 

But unlike the other dwellings in the village, no woodsmoke corkscrewed over Alice’s hut and it was silent inside.

Fearing that they may be too late already, Gwen skipped the last few steps to the hut, heart in mouth, and pushed open the door. 

“Alice?” Bending to enter, she propped open the heavy cloth that hung across it and peered inside. “Alice? Are you all right?”

But Alice did not answer. 

Exchanging a look with Hunith intended to convey that she feared the worst, Gwen crossed the bare floor, which she had swept clean only the previous day, ducking beneath the lavender fronds that she had hung a few weeks ago to sweeten the air. Alice lay in her cot, one wizened hand across her chest, which rose and fell rhythmically. 

As Gwen approached, her eyes blinked open and a ghost of a smile flitted across her face. 

“Alice.” Gwen’s vision went a little blurry as she grabbed Alice’s hand. “I was worried about you.” 

Alice tried to chuckle, but it turned into a rattling, rasping cough. 

“Hush!” 

“It’s all right,” whispered Alice. “My time is coming and it is all right, my dear. That is the way of things.” 

“But—” 

“No buts. I don’t have long. This… this hut. I…” she coughed again, her body wracked by spasms that made Gwen’s heart clench with pity. “I…” 

“Don’t try to talk,” cried Gwen, stroking the cold, papery skin of Alice’s hand. 

“I must, my dear… I… this hut… it’s not much.” Alice’s eyes flickered shut again and there was silence for a moment. 

“Alice?” Concerned, Gwen watched the steady rise and fall of the old woman’s chest, chewing at her lower lip. “Alice?”

“I… I want you to have it.” Alice said, her voice barely a whisper, mouth slack and twisted. “You and your princess… If you want it. You have made a… a home out of it. I want it… to be… to be yours.” 

“Alice! We don’t… I can’t… You will be better soon, I swear it. And then you and I will make soup and potage with the things we have grown here and…” 

But Alice’s eyes did not open again. 

***

All around her the clamour of alarm bells sent deafening, maddening sounds singing through her head but all Morgana could think was _stupid, stupid, stupid_. Stupid not destroying that letter from Merlin when she could. For the amulet was gone, discarded off the highest tower in Essetir, and Cenred… 

Cenred tugged at her hair so hard she wondered if it would come out at the roots. With his other hand, he held her around the neck and thrust her up against the hard, cold stone wall. Pain flashed through her skull and she let out a gasp that was nearly a sob. “You witch! You enchanted me! Well, I’ll have you now, by all the gods!” 

“Stop!” she cried, twisting her head this way and that to escape the vile stink of his breath, his face so close to hers, his disgusting mouth fixed on her neck. “Help me, someone!”

“Who do you think will come?” he sneered. “Submit to me, _wife_.” He yanked her hair again, so hard that it made tears start in her eyes. Using his bulk to pinion her to the wall, he let go of her neck to fumble at his belt. “It is time you had a real man show you how to be a woman…” 

“Never,” she said, turning her head to spit in his face. “You vile tyrant.” Dredging a spell from later in the book, she closed her eyes, ignoring the heat of his horrible body pressed up against hers, and sought the magic deep in her gut. “ _Ástríce!_ ” 

Abruptly, Cenred’s weight left her as he was flung against the opposite wall, roaring out a protest. “Sorceress!” 

“Vermine!” she spat, sparing a second to kick him hard in the ribs before running as fast as she could along the corridor. 

“After her!” Cenred cried above the clamour of the bells. 

With another well-timed spell, Morgana flung a table in his path, sending it clattering towards him as he staggered to his feet and started to run towards her. With one last blast of magic, she hurled herself through a doorway. It led to a winding stair. She started to ascend, cursing her lack of knowledge of the Essetir’s stronghold. 

Footsteps and shouts behind her indicated that her pursuit was not far behind. Casting about her for weapons, she grabbed a spear from a coat of armour at a corner and sped up another stair, heart pounding. Her breath came in great gasps. Spots appeared before her eyes as she started up yet another stair, her skirts tripping her. 

The tap tap of her boots would give her away. With a quick twist of her hand, she discarded her them, turning to ascend another twisting stair silently on cold bare feet. She stopped to raise a mist which swirled around, hoping to blind her pursuers while she pushed through another open door, entering a chamber. 

Gazing wildly about, she realised there was no way out other than the open window. 

With another twist of her hand, she hurled all the furniture she could find – dusty armoires, a huge wardrobe – at the door, desperation lending wings to her magic and raising a fog of dust that had her coughing into the sleeve of her gown. Then she sank, despairing, utterly spent, to the floor, weeping at the injustice of it and utterly, utterly alone. 

Which was when she realised that mingled among the shouts of Cenred’s men were screams and the clash of steel on steel. There was fighting going on – real fighting. Could that be why the alarm was ringing? Had Arthur come for her after all? 

Cautiously, she wiped the last of her tears away and peeped out of the window down to the courtyard below. Sure enough, among Cenred’s black-cloaked thugs were the cloaks of Camelot’s knights, glorious red and brave against the grey stone of the battlements. She stared incredulously, chest still heaving from the effort, while a man on horseback turned and gazed straight up at her, waving and smiling. 

“Merlin?” she cried, waving back. A hysterical laugh born of mingled joy and hope swelled unbidden in her chest. “I’m up here!” 

“We’re coming to get you!” he yelled back, his voice as clear as if he had been in the next room, making her heart soar. 

But the next moment there was a heavy thud at the door. Heart in her mouth she turned, hand outstretched. 

“Let me in, witch!” yelled Cenred through the door. “I would claim my prize.” 

She set her jaw and felt the power bubble up inside her, ready to do her bidding, and spat out, “Over my dead body.” 

***

When the raven came back this time, Gwen had not the slightest doubt who had sent it, nor that it symbolised hope rather than doom.

The wooden door of Alice’s old cottage was still rickety and much repaired, but now sported a fresh layer of protective tar that Gwen had painted on with help from Hunith while Alice was still alive. When the bird scratched on it, it made a sound that Gwen recognised at once. Pulling aside the cloths that she had draped inside the door to stop the draught from coming in, she tugged impatiently at the latch and opened the door up cautiously. 

“Hello?” she said, peering curiously at the deserted yard outside. 

There was an odd half-caw half-growl from just above her head. Looking up, Gwen smiled at the bird who now perched on top of the door, its large black wings spread for balance. 

“Hello, Athena,” said Gwen solemnly although her heart pounded in delight and anticipation. The bird came from Morgana! It must have done! But oh, what if Morgana were in trouble? Alternating between hope and despair, she froze on the doorstep, holding open the makeshift door. 

“Hello Athena!” said the raven, as it alighted onto the ground and half-hopped, half-stepped over the threshold, wings raised. It walk-hopped over to the hearth where it stood preening its feathers. 

“Make yourself at home,” said Gwen, hysterical laughter bubbling up inside her. 

She finally took over the cottage from Alice when the old lady finally passed away, grateful to have her own space back. It had been lovely staying with Hunith, but Gwen was accustomed to being mistress of her own home. Since then, she had done her best to make it homely. Alice’s old furniture and pots and pans scrubbed up well in her spring clean, and the cot now had a mat of fresh rushes and duck feathers. Her cooking fire in one corner of the cottage also served to keep it cosy and warm through the frosty nights. With the world on the cusp of spring, the sound of birdsong crept in through the rags that hung across the doorway when she propped it open for ventilation. A well-designed chimney funneled the wood smoke up and away from the middle of the single room, even on the windiest of days. With Hunith’s help, Gwen had scrubbed all the surfaces down and brought herbs in to make the air fragrant and sweet smelling, banishing any lingering vestiges of poor Alice’s last illness

She bent now to free the message that was attached to the bird’s lifted foot and lifted a hand to her mouth when she read the words there. 

“ _I am free_ ,” she read aloud, her heart in her mouth, hardly daring to believe her eyes. “ _I am coming._ Oh, my! Morgana is free! And she is coming here! Whatever am I to do?” 

She looked around the little hut, humble as it was and wondered, despairing, how on earth she could ever make it welcoming enough for a princess. Her homespun blankets, borrowed from Hunith, were soft and warm but they could hardly compete with the sumptuous dyed-red velvets and golden brocades that Morgana was accustomed to. But this was all she had, and she would make the best of it. Lifting her chin, Gwen set about tidying the space as best she could, to welcome her love. 

***

When the knights of Camelot returned to Ealdor it was an occasion for much public celebration. For word had reached even Ealdor of their victory over the tyrant Cenred, and the instalment of his estranged son Lot on the throne of Essetir, and the citizens hoped for a new era of prosperity, free from the terrors of Cenred’s reign. 

And so the villagers left their huts and cheered the delegation from Camelot lustily as they rode smiling into the village. 

The golden-haired prince who led the group waved back and dismounted as he waded into the crowd, bestowing sweetmeats and trinkets upon the outstretched hands of the waiting children with a benevolent, kingly smile. The sun beamed on him, limning his head with a crown of soft golden hair. 

From his position on his own horse Merlin watched, heart swelling as his prince charmed the crowds, his usual effortless charisma shining from him, a magic as ancient as his own and twice as potent. 

“He has grown,” said a familiar voice. “And so have you.” 

“Mother!” Dismounting from his own steed, and passing the reins to a patient-looking Leon, Merlin stepped gratefully into the warm embrace, folding his arms around her.

“It’s good to see you,” she said, pulling back for a moment to smile up at him. 

“But I haven’t grown!” he protested. 

“I meant metaphorically, doofus,” she replied with a motherly eyeroll. 

“How are you? And how is Gwen?” He looked around, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. “She is here still?”

“She’s thriving, as you might expect from a formidable young woman such as her.” Hunith waved a hand towards the other end of the village where old Alice’s hut stood, off in the distance down the main lane that went through the centre of the village. New thatch adorned Alice’s roof and a sturdy-looking wicket-fence had sprung up around a hen house that had not been there before. “Poor old Alice passed away during the winter—”

“Oh no, I’m sorry.” Dismayed, Merlin bit back a pang of loss, and frowned. “But what does that have to do with Gwen.”

“She was ill for a long time, Merlin, and Gwen looked after her. Anyway, as I was trying to explain, Gwen has taken over her hut.” 

“She’s spruced it up a fair bit, I see.”

He finally spotted Gwen smiling and waving as she skipped down the lane towards them. As he watched, a black-clad cloud of velvet, silk and wild, ungroomed hair sped down the lane. Flinging herself at Gwen, Morgana, for it was she, wrapped herself around her as if she never wanted to let go and the two women hugged, faces hidden, while above their heads a raven hovered like a sentinel. 

A small hand grabbed his chin and swivelled his face back towards that of his mother. 

“Let them have some privacy,” Hunith chided. “They’ve had a horrible time of it.” 

“They have.” Merlin swallowed, remembering how they freed Morgana. By the time they had fought their way up to the tower where they found her, she had slayed Cenred herself and was standing trembling with rage and fear over his body, armed only with her magic and her terror. 

Just then, Arthur appeared, face bright and full of promise for the new dawn that beckoned the land. Swept up by the euphoria at being reunited with Morgana, he stepped up to Merlin and bowed at his mother. 

“Dear Hunith,” he said. “It seems I must take your son away again soon, for I have need of him in Camelot.” And with that he stooped forward to press a warm and totally unexpected kiss to Merlin’s lips. 

Stunned, Merlin stared back at his prince, touching his mouth where Arthur’s had been just a moment before. 

Hunith, however, did not bat an eye. 

“Well, it seems that I have gained a daughter in his stead.” With a nod of her head towards Gwen, still clinging on to Morgana as if her life depended on it, Hunith flashed them both a soft smile. “Perhaps two.” 

Meanwhile, Merlin nodded in response to the tacit question in Arthur’s eyes and watched as a slow, incredulous smile crept across Arthur's face. It seemed that everyone was full of surprises, that day. 

***

END

***

**Author's Note:**

> These are not my characters, and I'm not getting paid for this work.


End file.
